


Walk Away with Me in Your Heart

by nameloc_ar_115



Series: Keep Me Alive [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Coming Untouched, Fluff and Smut, M/M, PTSS, Reid's Impeccable Fashion Sense, Riding, Season/Series 13, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-04 00:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14008407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameloc_ar_115/pseuds/nameloc_ar_115
Summary: “Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've kissed you?” His hand worms between their bellies to palm Reid’s cock. “Fucked you?”Spencer licks his lips, headthumping back against the door, eyelids heavy. “Six days, twenty hours, forty-four minutes. For both, considering they last occurred simultaneously.”





	Walk Away with Me in Your Heart

               Roxy lets out a single bark to alert him to the door, triggered either by the approaching scent of takeout or of Spencer. Both are common enough in the apartment.

               A moment later, Reid knocks—purely out of propriety—before letting himself inside, bags of Chinese food in hand.

               “Hey, girl,” he coos, offering a tentative scratch behind Roxy’s ear, like he’s afraid she might’ve changed her mind overnight and doesn’t like him anymore. She bumps her muzzle against his wrist to assure him otherwise.

               It’s plain that Spencer didn’t grow up with dogs, or pets in general. His introduction to Roxy had been gradual, gentle, but despite her sweet disposition and impeccable training, Reid had still been intimidated by her size and even more so by her gaze, full of awareness, tracking his movements.

               Spencer didn’t really trust her until his first Bad Day at the apartment. Roxy had curled over his feet on the couch, sensing his stress, and let him sneak a surreptitious hand into her thick, furry scruff for comfort. 

               He whisks the bags out of Spencer’s hands, sets them on the counter, and shuffles Reid back against the front door before he can even shrug out of his coat. “I missed you,” Luke exhales hotly, hands roaming along the lean planes of Reid’s body.

               “I find that hard to believe.” Spencer swallows, the column of his throat rippling, tempting, elegant. Reid’s hands slip along his forearms, cupping his elbows, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer. He’s unsure of the wild urgency in Luke’s eyes and touch, questioning, still picking it apart. “I saw you not even four hours ago.”

               “You know what I mean.”              

               Their workload this week had been heavy, two cases back to back from Sunday to Thursday. Both on the west coast, meaning long flights and overnight stays.

               Usually, they split time at each other’s places throughout the week, but neither one of them had slept in his own bed in five days. After landing last night, they had separated to their own apartments for some much-needed rest, recuperation, and privacy.

               Mercifully, today had been uneventful, the team using the downtime to write reports and complete casefiles in the office. The weekend ahead of them. Home by dinner.

               Theirs currently sat on the counter, abandoned in favor of higher priorities.

               “We both agreed,” Reid reminds him, kneading his shoulders with restless, twitchy fingers. “It's better this way.”

               “We did, and it is. But it was _torture_ ,” he emphasizes by sliding a hand over Spencer’s tailbone and pulling him in tight and quick, knocking their hipbones and hard-ons together, “spending all those nights in adjacent hotel rooms. Having you so close and not being able to do anything about it.”

               Under no circumstances could they act unprofessionally during work hours. They didn’t practice restraint for the sake of either secrecy (the team already knew about them) or the Bureau's fraternization policy. The job they did was simply too important to suffer any distractions. On the clock, they were strictly teammates.

               “I—” Spencer inhales, averts his eyes. “I whispered your name.”

               “When?” His nose trails over Reid’s jawline, scenting coffee and paper and remnants of soap. 

               “In my hotel room,” Spencer mumbles. “I was alone, and the bed was cold without you.”

               “That’s _where,_ Dr. Reid, not _when_ ,” he murmurs against Spencer’s ear. “Try again.”

               Reid shivers against him, fists a hand in his t-shirt. “When—” He clears his throat, closes his eyes. “When I was touching myself. When I c-came, I whispered your name.”

               With a throaty hum, Luke drags his cheek against Spencer's, both gritty and rasping with stubble. “Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've kissed you?” His hand worms between their bellies to palm Reid’s cock. “Fucked you?”

               Spencer licks his lips, head _thump_ ing back against the door, eyelids heavy. “Six days, twenty hours, forty-four minutes. For both, considering they last occurred simultaneously.”

               He snorts a laugh, thumb gliding across Reid's bottom lip. “Damn, _querido_ , I really missed you.”

               Spencer grins. It’s his best grin, teeth glinting and eyes crinkling, effortlessly happy within the span of that smile. “I can tell.” His kiss begins light and sweet, gaining heat as his tongue unfurls, curls inside Luke’s mouth, as soft moans start spilling out of him.

               Reid shakes his arm, trying to wriggle out of the sleeve of his peacoat, but Luke catches his wrist. “Wait, wait, baby,” he objects, a little breathlessly, frantically, struck by an abrupt desire that he wasn’t even aware had been simmering inside of him. “You look perfect.”             

               Spencer’s eyes widen. “We’re not going to get very far if I can’t even take off my coat.” 

               “Just—” He pushes a curl out of Reid’s face, kissing his sharp cheekbone long and firm. “Let me watch?”

               “What?” Spencer blinks, a series of rapid flutters, and squints.

               “I want to watch you strip.” He wedges a finger into Reid’s collar and tugs it aside as much as the loose tie will allow, kissing the warm neck and pulsing carotid.

               “ _No_.” Reid sounds scandalized, very much like the time they made it to third base before realizing that Roxy had been watching them, head resting on her paws like a proper voyeur. Spencer couldn’t be in the same room as her for a week without blushing. “Why would you even—? No.”

               The telltale heightened pitch and strangled edge to Reid’s voice betray self-consciousness, discomfort. A small anxiety born out of insecurity, probably harmless, but Luke’s not going to push. The flashbacks and nightmares are occurring less frequently, but they haven’t stopped (may never stop altogether), and the last thing Spencer needs during his recovery is unnecessary stress.

               Luke never wants to be a source of it.

               He backs off to give Reid some breathing room, removing his hands to flatten his palms against the door. Between his germophobic tendencies and his recent trauma, Spencer becomes especially sensitive to touch and personal space when he’s agitated or anxious, understandably so. Luke adjusts and responds accordingly, as best as he can, but doesn’t mention it. Reid hates to be treated and fussed over like a kid just as much as he hates to worry his loved ones.   

               “You undress in front of me all the time,” Luke notes, careful to keep his tone neutral, observational. In no way is his statement meant to delegitimize Spencer’s reservations or persuade Reid to do what he wants. He just needs to understand. “Why is this different?”              

               Spencer squirms, mouth dipping into a thoughtful frown, brow furrowed. “Well, you're usually undressing alongside me, and the nudity is a means to an end, not an event in itself, so it all feels much more…organic.”

               He smooths out the troubled wrinkle between Reid’s eyebrows with his thumb. “It’s not the saying ‘no’ that bothers me, Spencer. It’s the reason behind it.” After a stretch of unbudging silence, Luke wonders, “Do you think I’m playing games with you, setting you up for humiliation?”

               “No, of course not.” Reid looks down at his hands, his fingers laced together, flexing and fidgeting. “But humiliation seems like an inevitable result of the suggested exercise.” 

               “You’re a knockout, Dr. Reid.” Spencer scoffs in reply, his embarrassed smile still infectious enough to make Luke chuckle despite himself. “Don’t laugh,” he chides, bumping their foreheads together. “You are. It kills me that you can’t see it.” 

               Reid exhales. “It’s not going to be sexy,” he finally announces. His features fight to maintain a straight face, lips pursing and twitching, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing. In regards to Reid, all guilty indicators of repressed giddiness and amusement.

               “And yet, I think I’ll still find a way to enjoy myself.” He smirks, tucking his hands into Reid’s back pockets to give an encouraging squeeze.

               Spencer jolts, twisting fingers into the beltloops of Luke’s jeans. “Okay, just,” his voice tapers off into a sigh as they kiss, “just go sit somewhere before I fully embrace how ridiculous this is and change my mind.” 

               Luke chooses the armchair in the living room that gives him an unobstructed view of the front door.

               Once again, Reid attempts to tear out of his coat, seemingly intent on getting this over with as quickly as possible.   

               That doesn’t sit quite right with Luke. “Reid, it’s okay if you still don’t want to do this, but if you _do_ —slower.” 

               Spencer stares for a few seconds before he decides, resumes. He rolls his shoulders until the coat slides down his arms and heaps onto the floor. The underlying outfit is utterly, categorically Spencer Reid, comprised of pieces that don't _quite_ fit together but nonetheless draw the eye because of their mesmerizing imperfection. Like one life-sized, cotton-polyester optical illusion.

               No one else could get away with such a haphazard style, an off-kilter fashion sense, and make it appear so natural and effortless and cohesive. They’re only clothes, but they’re an extension of Spencer’s personality, another of a thousand aspects that make him so quirky and special.

               Reid’s scarf slithers around his neck to the floor with a measured tug. It’s the taupe, checkered one, not his purple favorite. 

               “I love your hands,” Luke confesses, absorbed in the shifting tendon and bone as Spencer unbuttons his red cardigan with long, nimble fingers. Captivated by the faint squiggling of veins, the pretty and unknotted knuckles. “They’re always doing something interesting, expressive.”

               “Thank you,” Spencer says with a wry, secretive smile on his lips. He’s obviously pleased and flattered but trying to feign unaffectedness. Reid never lets himself bask in compliments, certainly not outright. Luke’s torn between breaking the habit and finding it endearing. 

               Before the cardigan joins the other fallen clothes, Reid removes his watch, always worn over his sleeve, and sets it on the TV stand by the front door.

               Luke groans and laughs, combing his hair back with frustration. “A sweater vest _underneath_ a cardigan? You’re killing me.” His cock throbs in his jeans, in anticipation. Spencer almost always wears a minimum of two layers, but this is just cruel. “There's such a thing as being too modest.” 

               “We were doing paperwork all day, and the A/C in the office makes me cold when I’m immobile for an extended period of time,” he defends, wrestling out of a knitted, charcoal vest a few shades darker than his slacks. The divesting only tousles his hair into a messier mop of curls and waves. 

               Luke rests his hands on his thighs, the heat of his palms bleeding through his jeans into his skin. It would be so easy to touch himself, alleviate some of the building pressure, but the waiting will be so worthwhile. “I have a nearly Pavlovian response to your work attire at this point,” he admits.

               Spencer freezes, looking faintly horrified. “I doubt that my clothing choices have any bearing whatsoever on anyone’s behavior.” He returns to unraveling his askew tie, black with a thin, white gridded pattern. It should clash horribly with the reverse design of his shirt, white with black pin dots, and remind Luke of a kindergartner being allowed to dress himself for the first time. But it doesn’t. On the good doctor, it inexplicably works. Reid pauses again, this time with a puzzled expression. “Are you insinuating that your erection is a conditioned response to my sweater vests?”

               The laugh bursts from Luke’s chest. “Sure, that’s part of it. I _do_ get hard watching you write reports at your desk, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and your vest clinging in all the right places. I get turned on watching you pour coffee in the breakroom in your cardigans.” He continues, encouraged by the stunned parting of Reid’s lips, the bigness of his sweet brown eyes. “It takes all of my resolve not to fuck you in the elevator when I follow you out and you’re walking with your hands in your pockets, your pants stretched over your tight, little ass.”

               “You’re deranged,” Reid mutters dazedly, but his cock is tenting the front of his slacks, so the accusation doesn’t carry much sting. Spencer unloops his belt with a soft _clink_ of metal and crisp _snap_ of leather, tossing it on the accumulating pile of clothes.

                “ _Finalmente_ ,” Luke teases, slouching further into the chair’s cushion to spread his thighs and accommodate his aching cock. “Getting to the best part.”

               Reid’s mouth curls into a sly half-smile, hidden by his bowed head and tumbling hair. “Stop it,” he reprimands in a mumble, discarding his shirt and toeing off his Converse. He trips as he steps out of his left pantleg and ends up hopping on one foot until he can free himself.

               Luke beams. “This is the best foreplay I’ve ever had.”

               Spencer kicks his slacks aside, panting slightly, left in nothing but hot-pink briefs, one shorter gray sock, and one taller red sock. “Not another word,” he warns, voice trembling with stifled laughter, hands on his hips.

               Luke utters a wolf whistle. “Give me a little twirl, _querido_.”

               “I didn’t agree to that,” Reid quips, shedding his mismatched socks.

               “Let me do the honors then?”

               Spencer meanders into the gap between his spread legs, the flamboyant tent in his underwear the perfect height to poke Luke in the chin. He chuckles under his breath, affection choking him, and darts forward to suckle the head of Reid’s cock through the fabric until it’s warm and damp and Spencer’s gasping.

                A hand flies to Luke’s hair, fingers scrunching against his scalp. “Don’t,” Spencer heaves, bucking from the stimulation.

               “Sensitive,” Luke whispers, relenting, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses all over Reid’s soft stomach, licking upwards against the grain of his treasure trail to tongue his navel. He grasps the backs of Spencer’s thighs, skims the contours of muscle down to his knees and scratches through the light layer of hair on his legs. “When’s the last time you came?”

               “F-few days ago.” Reid's eyes slip shut, his underwear peeled down his legs.

               He coaxes Spencer into his lap, bony knees slotting between the armrests and his thighs. “You’re wound so tightly you’re shaking,” Luke breathes, shuddering with contentment, nearly delirious with how _good_ Reid feels in his arms. The softness of his skin, his comforting weight, his familiar scent. It’s all so right, and he’s conflicted and overwhelmed by urgent needs to squeeze Spencer tighter, curl around him, burrow deep inside him all at once. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

               He kisses Reid, can’t stop tasting him and his moans while he rubs his nipples and grazes a finger over his hole. It’s slick and gives easily under the prod of his fingertip, and it must feel as good for Spencer as it does for him because Reid’s pushing his ass back with a low hum.

               “Jesus,” Luke pants, working his finger in to the last knuckle, loving the flush that blooms across Reid’s cheeks and neck and chest. “Am I that predictable?”

               Reid’s head tips back, an easy smile on his lips. “Doesn't take a genius to realize that we'd be doing this tonight.”

               Luke huffs. “No, I guess it doesn’t, _cerebrito_.”

               “I just expedited the process a little.” Spencer unzips his jeans and fumbles his cock out of his underwear. The cool air is harsh on his overheated skin, but it feels amazing not to be confined anymore.  

               “How thoughtful.” He plants a kiss on Reid’s shoulder and spreads his ass open, cock sliding between Reid’s cheeks until the path is slippery with precome and dribbling lube. Spencer’s ready, Luke is _beyond_ ready, and yet, he can’t help but prolong the teasing just to hear Reid’s breath hitch every time Luke’s dick catches on his rim.

               Spencer doesn’t beg for relief. Instead, he cants his ass higher, pressing back against Luke’s hands with more force. “Is all this buildup an attempt to remind me that you’re better than my own fingers?” Reid leans in close enough for their lips to brush and, mouth barely moving, whispers, “Because I’m not so sure yet.”   

               Luke bares his teeth in a grin before slamming up into Spencer, only stopping when he bottoms out. Just the way Reid likes it. He always keens from that first balls-deep thrust, always asks Luke to hold it so that he can clench around him and appreciate the bittersweet stretch and ache.

               Tonight is no exception, Reid gulping air as he settles firmly on Luke’s cock, bracing his arms on the back of the chair.  

               “Still miss your fingers?”  

               Spencer shakes his head, teeth sunken in his bottom lip as he rolls his hips in a languid rhythm, keeping Luke deep inside but changing the angle, muscles dragging and clutching to create the best possible friction. He knows when Reid nails his prostate, his addictive little moans of ah-ah- _ah_ becoming sharper, more punctuated.

               As much as he wants to string out the toe-curling pleasure, he wants to see Reid explode even more. He cranes his neck upwards to reach Spencer’s throat, attacking it with brutal sucks and stinging bites and sloppy kisses. Reid’s sweet spot is just off-center of his Adam’s apple, a most serendipitous discovery, and the good doctor always comes quicker and harder when it’s lavished with attention.

               “ _Luke_.” Spencer drops harder and faster onto his cock, spine arched and rigid with pleasure.

               He knows that voice, its strain and its meaning. It only happens when Reid hasn’t been fucked in a while and he’s riled up and itching for a thorough, devastating orgasm. He comes without so much as a finger on his cock, nearly blacking out from the force of his release. It takes a lot out of him, and he’s typically jelly-limbed and inarticulate when he’s done.

               Spencer gives one last, hard bounce, crying out as he hits his peak, and then slumps forward, drained, trusting Luke to maintain his drilling pace. In close quarters like this, the warm jets of come splash Luke’s t-shirt and throat and the underside of his chin.

               He cups the back of Reid’s neck and rumbles, “I’m going to come inside you unless you let me pull out soon.”

               Spencer hums against his shoulder, grabs a handful of soiled t-shirt, and smears a kiss across his jaw. “Do it,” he slurs. “Stay inside me.”

               He bands an arm around Reid’s waist and reels him in for a messy kiss while he finishes himself off with dirty grinds and quick drives of his hips. He grits his teeth, breaths puffing in and out of his nose while he empties into Spencer, muscles already beginning to relax and liquify. He’s just as wrecked as Reid is.

               “You alive in there, _querido_?” he asks, feeling raw but sated, stroking through Reid’s tangled hair and down his back.

               “I ruined your shirt. I’m sorry.” Spencer sits up, albeit reluctantly and with a slight grimace, and plucks the fabric, splattered and soaked with a respectable load of cooling come.

               “I don’t care,” Luke murmurs with a smile, caressing the subtle jut of Reid’s hipbones, massaging his assuredly stiff knees and ankles. “You just came on nothing but my cock. Jesus, Reid.” He laughs, still a little winded and sex-high and astounded. It never gets old, seeing that.   

               Spencer stretches, body curving like a cat’s and joints popping, a decent excuse for him to avoid the praise and ignore the glowing pink of his own cheeks.

               “How ’bout a shower?”  

               More often than not, he pulls out and comes on Reid’s stomach or his ass (or his face, on one _very_ memorable birthday). They’ve talked about Spencer’s sexual preferences in detail, far more detail than Spencer ever wanted, and he’s assured Luke that this hang-up hasn’t developed because of a lack of trust, willingness, or enthusiasm. Simply put: ejaculation is messy, and sometimes, Reid gets freaked out by the somewhat unhygienic and, frankly, gross logistics of sex. His wants and restrictions depend on his mood, his stamina, his stress level, just like anyone else’s. All it takes to make it work is communication.    

               That being said, on the rare occasions that he’s allowed to come inside Reid, he finds it even more gratifying.

               “Not yet.” Reid’s head rests on his shoulder, fingers playing in the shaven bristles of hair at his nape, petting lovingly.  

               “There must be extenuating circumstances if you’re postponing your immediate postcoital shower.”

               Spencer nips his earlobe in retaliation. “There are,” he agrees, sighing contentedly. “I really missed you, too.”               

               He’s done for. Reid’s crawled into his heart, set up shop, and now, there’s no getting him out.

               “So, how badly am I going to pay for the strip tease?”     

               Reid hums, pretending to consider his options. “There was an interesting video art series created a few years ago known as _Hysterical Literature_. I have a couple books in their original Spanish.”            


End file.
